No Longer in Frigid Depths
by kiwi8fruit
Summary: Nothing is ever as noble as it seems. The glory seekers Doctor Erskine and Howard Stark selfishly hid lack of benevolence from the world. There were other things to be done besides fighting, according to Steve Rogers. Every scientific advancement needs a series of trials before moving on to human use. Desperate times led to desperate measures and, willing or not, human trials.
1. Prologue

Consciousness came back gradually.

First came a vague feeling of awareness. A soft warmth where there had previously been the sting of frigid ice. No longer was there shivering, nor shaky adrenaline pumped by a terrified heart.

Sound seeped into the enhanced hearing. At first, it was static, which gradually cleared to the familiar sound of a baseball game in progress. But beyond that was something much more familiar: anticipatory voices, quickened heartbeats, rustling of papers and pacing footsteps.

Along with hearing came the first signs that something was wrong. Newly acquired eidetic memory brought to mind just how familiar that game sounded. It had already happened! Listening more carefully, the blips and additional static of a recording became plainly obvious. Along with these sounds came other sounds. Traffic had never been so loud, New York City had never had so many pattering feet and shouting voices.

The air tasted different. It had been the clear glacial gales that tasted of sterile emptiness. Never before had there been air so full of flavors and life.

Taking one last moment to prepare, blue eyes edged open.

Immediately the defenses went up. Evidently someone was trying to keep up the facade of a normal recovery room. These efforts did not take into account the superior senses that could smell the pure newness of the room, hear the activity outside, and see the imperfection of the replica.

They had noticed the stirrings of the room's occupant, a flurry of checks and confirmations were made. Then the door creeped open.

Though at the first glance she looked perfectly 40s, it was obvious at the second that she was not. Flyaway hairs didn't want to cooperate with a last-ditch attempt at the classic 40s hairstyle. The fabric was far too high quality for so soon after the Great Depression. Most outstanding, though, was the tiny voice he could hear giving her encouragement and feeding her lines.

Having gotten all the information possibly available, it was time to escape.


	2. A Failed Enlistment

Steve Rogers trudged out of the recruits building. Big bold letters on the file clutched in his frail hands declared him unfit for duty. It was as if the letters were indelibly stamped on his forehead instead of the once-blank space on his military enrollment file.

As his heart sunk in resignation, for a moment a stubborn determination flashed through his mind; he could always try out in another location. However, his desire to serve his country was not high enough to risk prison, where he definitely would not be able to defend himself. Instead, he continued on his way, steering clear of any dark alleys along the sidewalk.

Arriving at his depressingly empty apartment, he went through the motions of making a small dinner for himself. Steve missed Bucky. The older boy's loud laughter, friendly conversation, and happy tales had filled the place and made it a home, not just a place to sleep. He had also been a much better cook. Every once in awhile they would entertain a couple girls and maybe attempt to impress them with the rudimentary cooking skills that they possessed. He paused for a moment, phantom memories of the feeling of home and friendship overwhelming the lonely boy.

But he was not a boy anymore. He was 22, not the 12 that most who saw him generally assumed he was. It was time for him to take some responsibility in his life, give up impossible dreams, and move past that set-back. As he slowly fell asleep, he vowed to do the best that he could in his situation and help out where he could.

.

Meanwhile, Doctor Erskine had a problem. His animal trials for the Super Soldier Serum's second formula had seemed to be successful. He still didn't feel safe injecting it in his future candidate without having an assurance that he would survive. The precious little government funding he received for his efforts was at risk if his trial severely harmed or killed the one who ended up chosen. He also couldn't risk having another failed test go out of control, like that disgusting Johann Schmidt. Given those absolutely unacceptable options, he decided that what he needed was a human test subject.

Because of limited resources, however, assistance would be needed. Howard Stark had been a great help with working on the equipment and tests for the original tests. When Erskine approached him with a less than ethically appropriate proposal, the so-called "Merchant of Death" had no problem with agreeing. As someone who made increasingly damaging weapons for a living, relatively small ethical issues were of no consequence to him at all.

Then came the true dilemma: who would be their test subject?

The criteria needed to be narrowed down quite a bit. They couldn't pick a woman, because the serum was to be used on a man and even that difference might influence the results. A child wouldn't work because if there was any possibility of it coming out, the scandal would ruin everyone involved. It would be better to have someone who wouldn't be missed, so maybe a grown orphan, or rebel runaway. Tests had shown that even the sickly runts grew to be bigger than the largest of those without the serum. In fact, the effects had even been stronger than on the healthy ones. So they needed a sickly, small, adult male, who wouldn't be missed.

That might have been quite a difficult person to find, had Erskine not stumbled upon Steve Rodgers being whaled upon by a couple of drunks. Immediately the scientist in him had noticed that most of the criteria for his test subject was present. Even the first glance brought an estimate that he was maybe 90 pounds soaking wet. While the tiny physique threw him off for a moment, the face made it obvious that this was no child. This also clued him into the sickly features that could only be brought about by chronic only thing he needed to do was figure out whether or not the runt had family.

After stepping in and easily convincing the drunks to leave, he made his move. "Generally, it's considered polite to introduce oneself to his rescuer." He started in, attempting to sound good-natured, "I'm Doctor Erskine, may I have your name?"

The calm introduction humiliated Steve. He reasoned that here this kind man had stopped those other men from putting him in the hospital, and he rudely neglected to introduce himself. Along with that, the man was a doctor, a man of power who should be respected. "My name is Steve Rogers, sir, thank you so much for stepping in. I'd rather not have had to add another bill to my list I have to pay off."

"Nobody to help you with it?"

The question seemed innocuous enough, so Steve felt fine answering it. "No, just me. My friend Bucky used to room with me, but he's overseas now, fighting for our country. He got into the 107th regiment, the one my birth-father was in. We were raised together at an orphanage, so I really miss him."

Erskine had hit the jackpot. There was definitely nobody to come looking for this runt. And it just so happened to be that he knew the 107th had recently been captured by his old employers in HYDRA. Given the way they were known to treat prisoners, no doubt by now he was long gone.

"Let me buy you a sandwich or something. You look like you could use a square meal!" Despite protests, the doctor was insistent. Eventually Steve gave in and agreed to let the man feed him. He was tired of canned food and could also use to save up a little cash for his art supplies.

.

A couple blocks away and they came upon a small sandwich shop. Distracting the younger man by encouraging him to order, Erskine made his move.  
Three drops of a clear liquid into a glass of water, and all he had to do was wait.

Sitting at a small table, he waited as Steve walked up with his sandwich. Once sat down, he immediately dug in with gusto, having not had a meal with real fresh food in quite a while. As he went to get up for a glass of water, Erskine stopped him.

"I figured you would be thirsty, so I went ahead and got you some water." Anticipation welled up in his heart. Soon he would have the test subject he needed for the final experiment.

Steve was extremely content. His stomach was filled with a good meal. The consequences of his being noble and stepping in to protect others were less than usual: instead of waking up bruised and broken in a back alley, intervention came and he was breathing a little easier at being safe. The salty salami he had just ingested, however, made him quite thirsty. He gratefully grabbed the glass of cool water the doctor had set near him.

It was actually quite delicious water! Normally the water in the city was musty and somewhat grimy-tasting. This water had a nice flavor that was slightly sharp, but blended well enough to be pleasing.

Doctor Erskine watched him closely. The only signs that Rogers had noticed the taste of the drug was his evident enjoyment of the differing taste. He knew it was time to be patient.

Gradually Steve became more and more sleepy. He repeatedly apologized to Doctor Erskine for his rudely yawning. As his words became more and more slurred, he allowed himself to be guided out of the shop. As his consciousness slipped further into oblivion, he was vaguely aware of being set on the ground, propped up against something. Then it all went black.

They had stopped by a telephone booth. Doctor Erskine made a quick call to Howard Stark:

_Hello, this is Stark._ The smooth arrogant voice came on the line.  
"Erskine here, I've found the perfect candidate. Fits every single parameter."  
_Great. I had expected it to take longer. This gives us a bit more time._  
"Yes it does. I was fortunate enough to just stumble upon the opportunity. Can you send a car?" After the addresses were given, Howard had one final thing to say.  
_The car will bring you to the lab. You are to bring him in after hours, absolutely not any time when this could be seen. I always say: It's easier to apologize later than to ask first. Don't make it necessary to ask._

A dark car pulled up a few minutes later. An unconscious Steve Rogers was pulled in, never to be seen again.

.

A file lay abandoned in a back alley. It had the name Steve Rodgers written on the front. As dirty water seeped along the pages, blackening with spreading ink, all trace of any enlistment washed away.


	3. Locker 215

Claustrophobia had always been a problem.

As groggy eyes opened to fuzzy black dimly lit by a small window above, they immediately snapped shut again in an attempt to squeeze the reality away.

For a moment, high school and middle school came to mind. Even smaller then, the target painted by stature had made easy prey for the aggressive bullies those 6 years. The first day of middle school had found the soon-to-be familiar territory of the inside of a locker. It began with a simple seed of curiosity: would the tiniest in the class fit in a locker? Then it developed into the thought of power: since they're bigger, healthier, and stronger than him, who cared if he wanted to or not? At first it wasn't so bad, just uncomfortable. In the futile hope that it would stop if not encouraged, no real reaction was given. However, it consistently happened, each time giving the same sick satisfaction; and eventually the claustrophobia developed.

Having been left trapped in a locker smaller than a coffin and then left there over the weekend, twice, had just exacerbated the effect. The orphanage had not thought to come looking. Bucky was taking the weekend off to try and earn a little money, and so didn't even notice the absence. Finally the janitor had noticed the whimpers coming from the locker and opened it to find a starving, dehydrated Steve Rogers having a panic attack in the dark enclosed space.

By sophomore year, the janitor had learned to check locker 215 every time he passed. More often than not, he found the tiny delicate teen, tears rolling down the gaunt cheeks. Other times the panic caused an asthma attack, and the subsequent wheezing and coughing quickly attracted the attention of anyone who passed. The nurse was quite familiar with her most frequent patient. However, she was spread over 5 different schools; she couldn't be there every time to help.

The occasional saving grace was Bucky. He always looked out for his friend. He scared away the bullies whenever he was around; they had no desire to fight with the larger boy. He was ruthless if he ever caught anyone bothering him. However occasionally Bucky got sick, and then Steve was in for it. Two of these absences resulted in the weekend stays in the locker.

.

Steve furiously blinked his eyelids and began to struggle and panic. Still confused by the drug, he began to call the janitors name while trying not to hyperventilate. As more feeling came back to his body, he began to notice the differences in his surroundings.

He could hear commotion going on around him, but not bustling students, nor the quiet of the empty hallway. Also, his arms, legs, and chest were securely tied down to something. The space seemed bigger and rounder than the usual squared edges and corners of locker 215. The light shining through the window above him was much harsher than the dim, flickering yellow of the high school hallways.

Memory began to return. He was twenty-two years old, not sixteen; high school was a torment of the past. The relief that came with that realization was quickly derailed, though, when he remembered that he still didn't know where he was or how he got there. Walking through what he last could recall, it slowly came back to him. He had seen the young girl being harassed by those two men, and stepped in to lend a hand. They had turned to him in their anger, and he had found himself on the bad side of two furious drunks. He hadn't been killed, someone had stepped in... who was that? It was.. …

Doctor Erskine! It all came rushing back. They had eaten and he had drunk that really good water, and then it all went sort of fuzzy.

Given that information, and still attempting to stave of the incoming panic attack, he began to call out, "Hello! Doctor Erskine? Are you out there?"

Immediately the commotion outside began to increase. He struggled to hear the muffled voices, waiting for acknowledgment. It never came. He began to scream, deaf to the ever-growing activity outside of his confinement.

The panicked cries had sprung the intern to action. His instruction was to assist the minor scientists and doctors until the subject awoke. Then he was to get Mr. Stark and Dr. Erskine. He jumped up from where he was extrapolating final data and raced to the lab, where he quickly informed the two men that the subject was waking up, and was exhibiting panic. Erskine grabbed the vials of the serum and rushed with Stark to the main lab.

As Howard began putting the vials into the appropriate places, Erskine went to placate his panicked test subject.

"Steve!" He had to raise his voice to be heard over the cries. "Steve, can you hear me!?" The call had to be repeated several times until he was noticed.

"Who is that?" Steve recognised the voice but couldn't quite place who it belonged to. Maybe it was the doctor? "Doctor Erskine, is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," the reply came, "I need you to calm down. You are about to go through a quick medical procedure."

Immediately, protest rose.

"I barely know you!" Steve shouted, injured fury distracting him from his fears, "You have no right to do anything to me. I am an American Citizen, not an animal. **Let me out!** If you tell me exactly what you want to do, maybe I'll consider it. You may have given me a meal, but you certainly_ didn't_ earn the right to knock me out without my permission and tie me up in this thing, whatever it is. **Let me out RIGHT NOW!**" The shouts escalated until the panic he had attempted to stave off choked him, and he began to wheeze as his asthma acted up.

Erskine ignored the shouts, as it was clear to him that they should just move on to the experiment. It was time for the transformation. He nodded to Stark and the other scientists, who had quieted down in preparation for the final steps.

"Tonight we are creating a super soldier. Tomorrow we will have an army of super soldiers. Then we will have won the war, even if the fighting continues, because nobody else has the ideas and knowledge we have, to make the perfect human being. Activate the pod and start the injections."

.

Steve started when he felt all the injections being made in his skinny arms. And then, when the energy began to build, he began to scream once again. The team monitored his growth and transformation deeper into the night, ignoring his increasing sounds of distress and just making sure he was still alive.

It was the worst pain he'd ever felt. It was all of the bullying and attacks combined. It was growing pains exponentially increased, and all over his body. It was a charlie horse, but every single muscle was affected. It was the light sensitivity and the headache, the soreness that never went away. It lasted for what seemed like forever.

.

The disturbed intern made his required notes on the process:

_Subject exhibits signs of physiological and psychological distress. Life-sign readings, however, indicate that it is in better physical shape after 5 minutes inside the pod, after having been administered the serum than after having a full meal. _  
_…_  
_After two hours, the treatment has finished. It is now 0127 hours and life signs are at a major peak. There are no recorded instances of a healthier human. …_

Then a shot echoed throughout the hall as several scientists guided a half-conscious and severely traumatized Steve Rogers out of the pod. Erskine was hit. A hired security man grabbed the culprit who, after crunching on a false tooth, was killed by the cyanide within.

They had not saved any of the serum. It was not written down anywhere for fear that it would be stolen. Instead, the doctor had created it from memory. Thus, with Erskine dead, the only remnant of the Super Soldier program was the now-unconscious man on the recovery cot: Steve Rogers.


	4. The Senator

Senator Brandt was having a terrible day, and it hadn't even started yet. He had been sleeping comfortably in his bed with his wife when the jarring sound of the frantic knocks on the door had woken both of them up. Instead of getting up to see what the problem was, he just lay there muttering, wishing for the disturbance to go away. Squinting at the clock on his nightstand in the dim moonlight coming through the curtains revealed that it was almost three in the morning, an obscene time of night to disturb someone's sleep. The knocks continued. Eventually there was shouting outside his door.

"Senator Brandt," the call came, "you're needed immediately!"

Unpleasantly assured that the interruption of his night would indeed continue, he threw on his housecoat and went to the door. Irritated, he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and squinted at the man at his door. Choking back his first impulse to scream at the man, he took a moment to see who it was who dared to disturb him at his home. As he looked at the stressed face illuminated by the faded yellow porch light, recognition sparked in his mind; he'd seen that pale thin face before, and frequently.

"You're the intern for Doctor Erskine, right? What's so urgent?" As he looked at the intern's baggy eyes and unusually grave expression, his heart began to sink. "What has happened?"

"Not here, you need to come with me. All I can tell you is" at this he leaned in and began to whisper "_there was an incident at the lab tonight. Doctor Erskine has been shot by a Nazi agent._"

Chilled at the potential negative repercussions of the event on the Super Soldier program, the senator took a moment to throw on a suit, kiss his wife, and then rushed out to the black car.

.

The City that Never Sleeps was unusually sedate that night. It was a quiet ride to the lab hidden in the city. The intern had refused to state anything beyond what he had already said besides a quiet "Just prepare yourself" that only instilled a deeper worry within Brandt.

They came to the shop, a front for the experimental science below, windows dark and room empty. After unlocking the door, and quietly making their way through the back, they had made it to the lab.

Despite the fact that there were only six people the large room, it was chaos. Scientists and doctors rushed back and forth, white lab coats flying behind them, as they shouted medical jargon to each other in frantic voices. After a closer look, the senator realized that there were two patients, not just Doctor Erskine.

To the right was a cot inhabited by an incredibly built young man; he seemed to be unconscious, as he didn't acknowledge the men monitoring his condition. On the far side of the room was another cot which held the dying Doctor Erskine. Brandt rushed over, as the situation seemed much more dire on this side of the room.

The old man had held on surprisingly long for such a serious wound, but his heart was beginning to fail. Seeing the senator, he grabbed his arm and with as much strength as he could muster he pulled him down to whisper his last words: "_Tell him I'm sorry..._" he paused as a wheezing rough cough rattled his body, "_tell Rogers ... I'm sorry ..._" he gasped for his last shallow breath and his words trailed off as he lost consciousness for the final time.

In that brief moment before his death, he had felt guilt, such a horrid feeling. It was also a new sensation, that uncomfortable tightening in his gut that said, 'I did something horribly wrong and unforgivable'. Never before had he regretted the amorality of anything he had done. It was assuaged enough by his apology that, for a moment, he was calm. Then he was no more.

.

The scans were in progress, and Howard Stark stood watching over them, scrutinizing every detail to see what the data presented. He knew he could do nothing about Erskine's condition, so he was going to get as much data on their subject before he either died or was taken away. He may not have been a biologist -chemistry and engineering were much more his forte- but he still knew valuable information when he saw it. He was somewhat disgruntled, in a callous sort of way, when Senator Brandt made the announcement that the doctor had died. It was interrupting his train of thought. It didn't mean anything to him; their alliance had been temporary, until the program was done, and he was much more interested in the science he could observe in front of him. He wasn't given this liberty because the senator had come to see who was the other source of the flurry in the room.

The first thing Senator Brandt noticed as he was walking toward the occupied cot was the strain on the young occupant's face. The eyebrows were scrunched together in some unidentifiable emotion, even though the man was obviously still completely unconscious. What next became apparent was the rapidly dimming sunburn on all the exposed skin he could see. What had been cherry red as he had entered the room was dimming to a rich tan, covering the developed abdominal muscles of the exposed torso.

"Who is this?" He quietly posed the question to Stark. He had requested that any attempts at the super soldier program be approved through him, as he was the senator who had gotten the permission, and the grant, they were using. Stark hadn't wanted to be publicly connected to the project, so his funds were off limits. Obviously they had gone around his orders.

"His name is Steve Rogers," the answer was returned just as quietly. The normal bravado associated with the name Stark was absent. Calmly spoken, the attempt was to head off the rage to come, if only for a few minutes.

"Why haven't I heard about him before? You both knew that I expected the candidate for the serum be approved by me before going into trial. I'll ask you again, _who is this, and why wasn't I informed about him?_"

While Howard Stark was not one to be intimidated, he knew he was already going to deal with consequences. He didn't want to add a point against him by refusing to cooperate with simple questions. The police didn't need to be involved, and if he could possibly ensure that, then he could relax. If they were involved, there would be a much higher probability of the news reaching the media, which he absolutely did not want. He geared himself up, ready to face the wrath at what they'd done.

"His full name is Steven Grant Rogers. Erskine hadn't wanted to risk such an extreme failure as he had in the past, so we deemed him an acceptable test, a weaker specimen of humanity that would really show the full potential of the changes the serum would induce. And it did, as you can see: he's no longer the 90 pound man in a child's body that he was. Erskine drugged him, I had them picked up, and we injected him with the serum and powered up the ultraviolet rays. It was a full scale test, an exact trial of what we planned on doing to the actual candidate. And this time, it seems it was successful."

"So you're saying that you kidnapped a small man, a _civilian_, and forced an experimental medical procedure on him, without his consent!" His voice steadily rose towards an angry yell. "Look what's happening NOW! You have a super soldier, one who is here UNWILLINGLY, whom you've ALIENATED!" Dropping down to a furious hiss, he made his final statement, "I'm taking over. You're losing all of your jurisdiction here, all of you. This project is officially over. You better pray to God that this man doesn't try to press charges for all you've done to him, because I'll be behind him entirely."

.

Both men were oblivious to the man behind them, whose heart beat was rising, quickly. Eyes cracked open, as Steve Rogers once again woke to unfamiliar voices and surroundings.


	5. Senses

The first thing that came with awareness was a prevalent humming and an angry voice nearby. There were curious thumping sounds, and loud rattling vents and pipes. Then someone said his name, drawing immediate attention, in a subdued voice that, as heard further, detailed what had been done to him. More sounds filtered in from farther away, some muffled for some reason; a clock nearby ticked, the gaps between the sounds lasting what felt like minutes. The first voice grew in volume and fervor until he cringed at the sound grating on his ears.

Smell, taste and touch came back simultaneously as an overwhelming punch to the brain. The rank scent that would later be identified as death hit his nose, along with the sterile and clinical smell of the science laboratory. He could smell people, the different nuances and flavors of their hormones, not that he knew what these meant. He could taste them on his tongue, and the flavors made him want to gag and scream and run as far away as possible, but Steve Rogers was never one for running.

The worst sensation of them all was touch. He could feel the aches and pains of growth, long forgotten from his childhood and unfamiliar in their own new ways. His skin itched and burned as if he had stayed out in the summer sun far too long, several weeks in a row. He could feel his own heartbeat throbbing through his body. It wasn't just his own body he had to contend with, it was also exterior sensations as well. Whatever he was lying on itched, he could feel every individual rough fiber against his skin and it was agony. Squirming didn't provide any relief. Each seam on his pants, mysteriously too short, irritating his skin even more.

Bracing himself, he opened his eyes, desperately hoping that it would no longer be the cramped darkness from before, only to clench them shut as the electric lighting above him seared his retinas. Trying to ignore the pain, he slowly cracked his eyelids open, letting himself adjust to the light. The air was so distracting. He could just barely see the hints of color beyond the normal spectrum in the air. Dust particles caught momentary interest, as he noticed all the different floating specks moved about in the different drafts.

While it seemed to Steve, who had no idea he had been enhanced in any way, that all of this adjusting took quite a while, in actuality it was only a minute or so. In fact, the conversation he had first registered as he returned to consciousness was still taking place. He began to actually listen to it and was shocked to realize that the angry voice was actually defending him!

Sitting up quietly and taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the medical taste of the room, he startled the two men when he spoke. "I hope this isn't all just a show you're putting on for me," the words came out quickly, almost rushed, "because it isn't amusing at all. Who are you? Actually, I don't care. I want to know exactly what you did to me. What is this 'super soldier' you made me into?"

At this bold introduction to the character of Steven Grant Rogers, Howard Stark's momentarily cowed bravado came rushing back. He smirked cockily at the younger man, sardonic sarcasm dripping off every word. "Of course it's a show! Look at you. You're all big and tough inside, and now you have a body to match; how wonderful!"

Steve just looked at the man standing before him. He was thin and willowy. It was nearly covered by the massive amount of cologne, but the smell of greased back hair and a faint stench of alcohol seeped through the air with his breath as he spoke. The persona that was presented was so transparent, like the skin on his neck where his rushing pulse could be seen clearly.

"Cut it out, Stark." Senator Brandt was quick to step in; he didn't want the enhanced man to lose his temper. "I'm Senator Brandt, and that wise guy is Howard Stark. I'm definitely not putting on a show. I sincerely apologise for what has been done to you. Doctor Erskine was absolutely in the wrong for grabbing you as a last test run on this project." Before he could be interrupted by the younger man he went on. "The Super Soldier program is a top secret military program. He was the head scientist on the project, as he developed the serum and would not write it down or share the formula with anyone. It is designed to enhance whoever it's administered to the peak of human strength and ability. The superior being could be a valuable asset in this war. There was a full program of candidates to be selected. Erskine and Stark, however, wanted to make sure of the likelihood of success before trying it out on one of their men. Had I known, I would have stepped in and prevented this from happening to you."

.

The words peak of human strength and ability struck hard against Steve's rushing mind. He had always been compared to a runt, an example of inferiority, the one mothers who pointed to when trying to convince their children to eat vegetables as they said "if you don't eat your veggies, you'll grow up to look like that man -yes, he's not a boy, he's a man- instead of big and strong like your papa".

But suddenly, all of the new and overwhelming sensations he had been experiencing had a reason! All of his senses were enhanced beyond what any normal person could hear because of the procedure they had done to him. It was somewhat alarming, however, to think about the fact that the enhancements included physical effects, too. He hadn't done much moving yet; he had only been sitting up for a few minutes. The reaction exhibited by Stark seemed to show that there were major changes to his body.

It was time to take a moment and figure out the changes he had gone through. Completely ignoring the two men in front of him for a moment, Steve began to really scrutinize the sensations he could feel. He tried to tune out the current discomforts as he did so, instead focusing on his own dimensions. He looked down at his hands in his lap and for a moment thought he was looking at someone else. His hands were larger, more masculine, and much more tan than he had ever had. Flexing his fingers, he noticed that not only were they larger, they were also longer. When he brushed them together, he was almost overwhelmed at the sheer amount of feedback he was getting. he reached out to touch his knee and overshot it, not expecting his arm to go as far.

Steve stood up and nearly swayed as it took some time to become accustomed to being almost a foot and a half taller than he had been. He took a step, and did sway, as vertigo and nausea swept through him. Fighting down the urge to lose the contents of his stomach, and the desire to really see the full scope of the changes to his body, he finally turned to address the two men.

Senator Brandt had watched in somewhat awe as the man in front of them became increasingly twitchy. Over just a few seconds, there had been quick movements of the hands, a sort of unconscious twitching, and suddenly aborted movements that gave away the thoughts speeding through his mind. Moments later he stood, braced himself, and took a step, where he proceeded to sway almost dangerously. However, another second and he was rapidly turning to the senator, cutting off the additional apologies he had been preparing to say.

"I'm pretty sure I don't forgive you yet." He had to consciously compensate for the faster processing in his head. After hearing the men speak for a while, he had realized that they weren't being condescending to him by slowing their speech. In actuality, he was registering and comprehending their words at a higher rate. "I didn't plan on being a test subject for the military, no matter how much I want to be in the army. You may not have been involved with this, Senator, but there need to be consequences." Turning to Howard, he went on. "And not just for Doctor Erskine, Mr. Stark, you may be famous but that doesn't make you any better than him. Where is he, anyways?"

"He died." It was Stark who replied. "You probably don't remember, but just as you were exiting the machine, a Nazi spy shot him. All this talk of consequences can just stop here. I don't want my name and my company to have anything to do with this mess."

"I thought I should let you all know," one of the scientists had walked up and, after waiting for an appropriate time to interject, broached the subject that Stark had been desperately avoiding, "Mr. Rogers, here, is now the only possible source of ever retrieving the serum formula. It's in his blood, you see, and has likely by now permeated his muscles and bones as well. There is a possibility we could isolate it and recreate it in its pure form to continue the project."

The protest came immediately and simultaneously:

"I don't want that!"  
"Absolutely not happening!"

Senator Brandt had more to say. "I already told you this project was over. Mr. Rogers, if you'd still like to help out in the war effort, we might be able to use you. We can't trust that the effects of this will last out on the battlefield, but I have another idea. How do you feel about selling bonds?"


	6. An Excess of Phlebotomy

His first reaction to the question was an emphatic no. He had requested a ride home, and hoped that would be the end of it.

Unfortunately, Senator Brandt used that ride home to the very best of his ability. He tried to change his mind with every conceivable reason. He preached about how good it would be to serve his country, he even attempted to bribe him. Eventually, he posed this question: how would Steve explain the overnight change in physique?

That question forced its way into his mind and began to revolve in circles. Unwittingly, he ended up picturing the scenes: walking into his tiny apartment building, going up the stairs and greeting his neighbor, but instead of her usual smile and greeting, receiving a scowl and a scream from the kind, elderly, Italian woman. Going to work, only to be laughed away with the words "You're not Steve Rogers, stop joshing and scram!" He couldn't even join the Army, especially since they had him on record from just the day before.

Meanwhile the senator had paused in his diatribe, suddenly aware that something he said had struck a chord in the young man's thought process. Unfortunately, this pause is what pulled Steve's thoughts from the depths of his mind.

To Brandt's relief and delight, the enhanced man changed his mind. This did not, however, come without conditions. As they continued to the apartment, now to collect the belongings, they haggled over salary and housing. They also discussed the different aspects of the job, especially what 'selling bonds' would entail.

Little did Steve know that this last minute change in decision could very well have saved his life.

.

The scientists were all incensed. First, that infernal Nazi had killed Erskine, the only source of the serum's formula. Then, that interfering senator had stepped in and stopped them from extrapolating the serum and reverse engineering it's formula from the subject's blood.

They still had a chance, though, the subject had rejected the offer of protection and work from the senator. Plans needed to be made, and the person to turn to was definitely Howard Stark.

Everyone knew that Stark was a shrewd businessman, ruthless and capable of getting many things done. He also had fingers in many pies, and friends in high places. Though his investment in the super soldier serum wasn't very high, his utter disdain of a failed endeavor would keep him somewhat involved with any efforts by the remaining scientists on the project. And they knew it. They didn't even need to attempt to manipulate him, just to give their support in what was ultimately to be blamed as the millionaire's idea.

It was early in the morning, everyone was tired, and bloodshot eyes glared around as they schemed and argued as to how they would retrieve the serum from Rogers. They could only hope that he would slip under Senator Brandt's radar soon so that they could grab him.

As Howard investigated, and phoned a few men of his, he learned that Rogers had changed his mind, and agreed to work under the senator. This served to frustrate every possible plan they had already come up with, as they hinged on there being little to no supervision and involvement from the senator. They had hoped it would have been easy enough to drug him, take him to some facility, funded by Stark, and have as much time as they needed to do tests, and try to replicate the serum.

This setback had brought up the issue of whether or not his metabolism would require more drugs than usual to keep him unconscious. Also, they unfortunately they didn't know how effective the serum really had been, he hadn't allowed them to test his strength and abilities. It may have only bulked up his muscles to a normal, healthy point. It wasn't even clear whether or not he would suffer the negative and possibly deadly side-effects that others had experienced after the injection and procedure. That train of thought led to the next plan, which they chose to enact.

In fact, the plan was somewhat simple. All they needed to do was state their 'concerns' over Rogers' health, and use that as an excuse to do as many tests as they'd like. Since these concerns were over the serum and they had most specialized knowledge about its effects, the examinations couldn't be turned over to anyone else. Any supervisors that the senator put in place could be bribed or blackmailed into silence, especially since Howard's influence covered a vast part of the medical field.

Over the next few days, they amassed the instruments they needed to get as much information possible. They set up a 'clinic' with all of these, and eventually they were ready for testing.

.

Meanwhile, Steve was adjusting to his new body. He wasn't enjoying himself at all. Unaccustomed to his increased height, he kept losing his balance, or running into things. Twice he had hit his head going up the stairs to his apartment. Unused to his increased strength, he kept breaking handles, collapsing door knobs, ripping papers, and ruining all sorts of other things.

This tendency had wracked up a bill that the unfortunate Senator Brandt had to foot. Not only did he have to pay for damaged property, he also had to pay for things like reinforced silverware and new clothes.

In fact, all of the young man's clothes had needed to be replaced. Once his adrenaline and anger had worn off, the senses he had been somewhat ignoring came roaring to the fore. Suddenly the seams and irregularities in his cheap, rough clothes were agony on his sensitive skin. He'd been able to restrain himself until he was alone, in his last minute apartment near the senator's home. Once he was away from the searching, sympathetic eyes, he was frantically scratching at all of the irritations on his skin. He had quickly recognised the futility of his actions; for every itch he scratched, three more would materialize. Frustrated, he tugged his now-tight shirt over his head. The relief he immediately felt had him pulling off the rest of his clothes in a rush to escape the uncomfortable sensation.

The next morning he had informed the senator of his problem. Deep inside he felt a sort of smug satisfaction that Brandt was guilty enough to pay. Quickly he smothered it even further; he didn't want to become a smug arrogant person like Stark.

Over the next few days he made quite an effort to adjust to his new sensitivities. He had to force himself to hold and touch everything as if it were rice paper, or the most delicate blown glass. He learned to tune out the minute sounds around him before they drove him to distraction.

Adapting to the enhanced taste and touch seemed to be the most difficult. Everything he ate exploded into the flavor of each individual ingredient, overwhelming his tastebuds. The problem was that he was ravenous, but the taste of rich foods was so strong that more than one bite was too much. He quickly learned to buy more bland foods and cook with less spices. Touch was similarly solved, he had to have Senator Brandt get him some softer clothes to wear, silkier fabric, just so he would be able to go anywhere. His sheets were the softest they could find. Even then he still wasn't 100% comfortable, but he could endure.

.

A week long period was decided as a sufficient cooling-off period for the senator's anger; the scientists were ready to enact their plan. Picking the most unobtrusive appearing member of their group, they had him phone Senator Brandt.

Said senator was sitting in his office; he had finished convincing his advisors that a promotional tour for advertising bonds was good idea, and was getting the paperwork for the funds filled out. When his assistant told him he had a phonecall, it was almost a relief. Picking up his extension, he greeted the caller:

"This is Senator Brandt, to whom am I speaking?"

_Hello, sir._ The voice on the other line was timid, soft, and vaguely familiar. _You probably won't want to hear from us, but I'm afraid it's important._

He was already getting impatient. "Well, get to it! Who are you and what is so important?"

_I'm the intern, from the Super Soldier program._

"I told you all that project was canceled!" Brandt interrupted, "Why are you calling me? Stop wasting my time!"

Before he could hang up, the urgency in his caller's voice stopped him.

_Please, senator! It's important! Those who were previously administered the serum, when it was first developed, had horrible side-effects. We just want to make sure that Mr. Rogers won't experience any of these. All we're asking is that you let us do a full physical on him, just in case._

This was something he hadn't thought about, but with the current problems Rogers was having, it was plausible. "I'll have my personal physician take care of it. Thank you for informing me of your concerns."

_NO!_ The protest came,_ I mean, only the experts on the serum would be able to tell if it's reacting badly. Your doctor, however competent he may be, doesn't know a thing about the serum. We have experts. Let us make sure that poor Mr. Rogers doesn't have anything more unfortunate happen to him._

"Fine," he reluctantly acquiesced, "I'll ask him and then figure out a schedule, my assistant will get back to you. Either way, though, my physician will be supervising." Then he quickly hung up before any more protest could be made.

.

It had taken a while, but Steve got badgered into undergoing the tests that the scientists wanted to put him through. He was particularly reluctant because he already had reasons to mistrust these 'doctors'. However, given the risks that he was assured were really there, he decided that he would submit to the testing.

And so the barrage of tests began. First, they were doing seemingly innocent things, like measuring his height to compare to his previous height. It seemed he'd grown over a foot as a result of the serum. They also tried to find the circumference of his arms, even though they had nothing to base it off of. They measured the size of his head, and the breadth of his chest. Everything was noninvasive, and the doctor who'd been set to supervise ended up just sitting in the corner griping about not being used. It all changed when said doctor decided to go get some coffee.

It seemed that as soon as he was out of the room a new set of tests began. They were in a rush, grabbing all sorts of sharp implements out of the drawers and cupboards. Steve was asked to sit still as they tied a tourniquet around his upper arm and prepped his inner elbow. Then, none too gently, the first hypodermic was stuck into his vein. It was ostensibly for making sure the serum had not taken anything vital out of his blood, but when they continued to take more, one after another, without any regard to his own sensitivity.

Each needle progressively got more irritating. Steve's skin had not gotten any less sensitive. Each instance where a needle pierced his skin came as a jolt to his nervous system. He had to keep reminding himself that this was a precaution, and for his protection. What he didn't know was that all of the withdrawals were for the purpose of extrapolating the serum from his blood and then reverse engineering it. What he did know was that he was getting upset. Ever since the serum, his emotions had gotten stronger. He had found himself crying hysterically, though he would never admit it, on several occasions in the previous week. The jarring sensations and callous attitudes of the doctors were making him feel very insecure. He had no idea where the senator's doctor had gone; he'd never come back from his coffee run.

After what felt like ages, they finally stopped with the blood draws. It didn't get any better from there, because they decided they needed more samples than just that. While he didn't mind the loss of the lock of hair they demanded, he did mind when they said they needed a sample of his bone marrow. Though Steve didn't know much about medicine, he knew enough about bones to know that it wasn't going to be simple, easy, or painless to get some of his.

In the other room, Senator Brandt's doctor was being assured that they were nearly done, and it was fine for him to go home. He didn't need to stay much longer, they said, they were only going to check a couple more things. He was tired, and was eager for his warm, comfortable chair at home. So he allowed himself to be walked to the door, with only the slightest inkling of guilt in his mind.

.

Steve was becoming quite unstable, he'd gone through with the bone marrow withdrawal, even when they told him that "unfortunately they'd forgotten to reorder their supply of anesthetics" and he'd "have to suffer through it." It had been horrible, and he'd struggled, and jostled the equipment so much that the first attempt hadn't even worked! After that, they did a spinal tap. He knew better than to move by then, and just lay there as tears began to drip down his cheeks. All the while, he kept reminding himself that it was to make sure he was okay.

The doctors had begun prepping him for something called a biopsy. Poor Steve had barely recovered from the numerous tests he had already gone through, and he reasoned they would only get worse. So, despite the ball in the pit of his stomach that demanded he shut his mouth, he asked for a description of the procedure. When someone reluctantly told him what it entailed, they had reached the last straw.

"I will NOT tolerate anymore of this!" Steve was tired, in pain, and suffering from blood loss. He had low blood sugar and was feeling quite faint. He stood up quickly, determination being the only thing preventing him from swaying dangerously, and backed away quickly from the men encroaching once again on his personal space. "I'm leaving now," he held up a hand, as if it would hold them back, "and I'm not coming back. If you didn't get everything you needed, then too bad, because I would rather live with whatever consequences come than go through any more of your blasted tests."

He edged his way around them, towards the door. The doctors and scientists knew better than to prevent him, because they'd realised that if they pushed him any further, they might be likely to trigger a violent response. This was something they particularly didn't want because they had no idea how enhanced his strength really was.

Still, each mourned the loss of such wonderful data, as its carrier made its way down the street and forever out of their lab.


End file.
